


Passion, Serenity

by ShannonPhillips



Series: A Little Less Attitude and a Little More Altitude [10]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he’s making love to Hera, Kanan finds it startlingly easy to slip into a sort of meditative trance. Time has no meaning while he’s dropping kisses down her throat, over her breasts, tracing runes with his fingers on the inside of her thighs. And he’s so attuned to her responses that the ordinary distracting chatter of his own surface thoughts slides away. All his senses are opened to her and he’s utterly focused: it’s certainly not a meditation technique that the old Jedi Masters would have ever endorsed, but it centers and grounds him and brings his spirit into harmony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion, Serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Страсть, безмятежность](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725300) by [Kalgary_Nurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgary_Nurse/pseuds/Kalgary_Nurse)



There’s no day or night in space, so words like “late” lose their meaning during long interstellar voyages. Still, it’s late on the Ghost. Typically most of the crew maintains the same sleep schedule, while one person—they rotate this duty—takes the second shift with Chopper.

When Kanan volunteers for graveyard duty, the others pretend not to understand why. Deep into second shift, once everyone else has turned into their bunks, is the only time there’s much privacy to be found aboard the Ghost.

Hera’s in her quarters too, but she’s left the hatch open. Soft, warm light spills out from her cabin into the corridor. Kanan steps quietly, fingers trailing against the wall, then pauses just outside. He can sense her presence even before he steps into the open door—reaching out to him, beckoning, welcoming him home.

Hera’s in bed, the covers tousled around her, but she’s not asleep. She pushes herself up on one elbow as Kanan ducks under the frame of the hatch, a brilliant smile crossing her face. Her pilot’s cap and coveralls have been neatly stacked at the side of the bed: she’s wearing only a long, loose camisole that falls softly over her breasts and hips.

Kanan’s eyes darken with desire, holding her intently in his gaze as he crosses the short distance to the bed. He sits on the edge and reaches for her. There is nothing in the galaxy he wants more than to feel the soft fabric of her nightshirt sliding under his palm as he slowly pushes it up over the curve of her hip. And he _can_ —he does—she makes a throaty, encouraging noise as he bares her green skin. It feels almost miraculous to want something so badly and to have it given so freely.

They’ve said nothing. Everything that needs to be told is plain between them. It’s in the steady, controlled movements of his hands sliding under her shift, registering every flutter of her skin and moving in response. It’s in her smile and her dancing eyes. It’s in the way his awareness is filled with her, only with her, how the full force of his will is now bent to the matter of coaxing more of those breathy moans from her lips.

Her eyes flutter closed, her heartbeat racing beneath her skin. Her breasts rise and fall, soft and warm and pliant. When his fingers close on them she shudders and gasps.

He grows impatient with the camisole. It was exciting at first, knowing that there was only a thin scrap of fabric between him and Hera’s fully naked body, but now he wants no barrier at all. He tugs it up, over her head and lekku, and she helps, shimmying to free herself from the fabric. He stares shamelessly at her body in motion.

Then she’s bare before him, and his breath is quick and rough in his throat. He eases her back onto the pillows and kisses her cheek, her neck, her earcones, the patterns of her lek. She writhes beneath him, her naked body surging up against him.

The intensity of the Twi’lek sexual response is something of a crude joke across the galaxy. Which makes Kanan sick, because when Hera surrenders herself utterly under his hands it’s one of the purest, highest acts of love and trust that he has ever known.

He pulls away just long enough to begin working at the buckles of his shoulder guard. Hera moves to sit up too, but he stills her with one hand, gently guiding her back. She smiles and sinks back against the bed, understanding him perfectly. He’s in no hurry.

Instead, he drinks in the sight of her as he deliberately removes each piece of his armor and clothing. Her smile turns wicked. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and—eyes never leaving his—begins to deliberately and sensuously roll her hips and shoulders. She lifts one shapely green leg, her toes trailing up the calf and inner thigh of the other leg. Kanan finds he’s frozen in the middle of removing his boots, spellbound by what’s being revealed to him as her knee lifts higher.

With a rueful shake of his head, he kicks off the boot. Hera giggles.

He rolls back onto the bed, covering her body with his own. The touch of skin against skin is electric. Hera’s laughter ends in a gasp.

He snakes one arm under her shoulders, pressing her more firmly against him. Her lips part as she stares into his eyes, and he knows she can read there everything he intends, everything he means to do to her. He wants to push her past all thought and restraint; he wants her screaming in ecstasy before he takes her, and then he wants her shuddering and clinging to him and whispering his name. In the exhaustion of their bodies he wants their souls to meet.

She winds her arms around his neck and pulls his mouth down to hers, nipping at him in little kisses. He answers in kind, gradually claiming more and more of her mouth as his kisses become more hungry and urgent. She starts to make needy little whimpers, sounds that send a spike of desire coursing through his body.

Without consciously thinking about it, Kanan begins to control his breathing, to slow his racing pulse. It’s not just that he needs to keep his body in check in order to prolong both of their enjoyment. When he’s making love to Hera he finds it startlingly easy to slip into a sort of meditative trance. Time has no meaning while he’s dropping kisses down her throat, over her breasts, tracing runes with his fingers on the inside of her thighs. And he’s so attuned to _her_ responses that the ordinary distracting chatter of his own surface thoughts slides away. All his senses are opened to her and he’s utterly focused: it’s certainly not a meditation technique that the old Jedi Masters would have ever endorsed, but it centers and grounds him and brings his spirit into harmony.

He wishes that she could feel the Force as he does, because in these moments of intimacy and vulnerability the bond between them is almost a living thing. Pure energy, pure love, passing through them both and out into the galaxy, connecting them to each other and to the great, sacred web of all life. He gently parts her thighs, finding her most sensitive places, and feels the almost unbearable sweetness of her pleasure flow over and through him like a golden wave, like a solar flare, like the song of creation itself echoing joyously through the stars forever.

Because she can’t feel the harmonies of the universe embracing her, he tries to tell her instead, to translate it for her through his fingers and his tongue and the pressure of his skin. She bucks and moans and grasps at the sheets, and presses a pillow to her face when she can no longer hold back her cries. Kanan has no idea how much time passes while he’s lost in explorations of her body and spirit, but eventually it’s almost too much: Hera’s exhausted, her senses raw with overstimulation, her limbs sweaty and trembling.

It’s this awareness that brings him back to himself. His nose is filled with her scent, his hands slick with her juices, and he’s desperately, painfully hard.

“Can I, Hera?” he whispers, grasping her hips.

“Yes,” she moans, and then moans again as he slides inside her. She clutches his shoulders, breathing “yes…yes… _yes…_ ” with every thrust. Now it’s Kanan who can’t stifle a groan: he arches his neck, breath coming ragged, need and desire driving him faster and faster. “ _Yes_ … _yes_ …Kanan…”

It’s his name. It’s not his name. Any word in her mouth could be his name. In the extremity of sensation he can finally allow himself to abandon control, to drop his final defenses, and his gasps sound like sobs as he spends himself inside her.

She holds him tightly as the last spasms fade. He drops his head to her shoulder, kisses her bare skin gently, reverently. When he rolls off her, she nestles into his side.  
  
“Do you think we woke up the _whole_ crew?” Hera asks at last.

“Nah,” says Kanan. “Zeb could sleep through anything.”  
  
She gives a rueful sigh. “Will you get the lights?”

“Mm-hmm. I can’t sleep, though. It’s still my shift.”

“Just stay a few more minutes,” she says, so he lifts one hand lazily and projects his will through the Force, just enough pressure to trigger the switchpad on the other side of the cabin. The lights dim to a faint, ambient glow.

“Show off,” murmurs Hera.

“I’m just comfortable,” Kanan protests. Then, after a beat, he can’t resist adding: “Showing off is what I was doing _before_.”

She smacks his shoulder. He answers by shifting his arm so it wraps around her.

He could try to talk to her about the days past, the challenges to come, things said that may have been misspoken or misconstrued: or he can simply lie with her, listening to her breathing as it gradually slows and deepens into sleep.

He chooses the latter course. After all, everything they really needed to tell each other was said without using a word. And if it turns out there’s more to talk about—that’s a conversation for another night.


End file.
